


A Little Messy

by SilverMoon53



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: ? I think?, Academy Era, Cleaning, Crack, Fitz likes to clean, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Pre-Canon, Simmons Cannot Keep her Room Clean, friendly teasing, its just fun academy days shenanigans, lighthearted fun, maybe? - Freeform, messy rooms, tbh i dont know what tags to use for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18261749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMoon53/pseuds/SilverMoon53
Summary: Academy days. Simmons says her room is a little messy. Fitz finds cleaning relaxing and satisfying, so he offers to help.The only problem is, they have slightly different definitions of “a little messy.”ORSimmons’s academy dorm room is a disaster and probably contains a few things she isn’t actually allowed. Fitz has no idea what he’s in for.





	A Little Messy

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! I think this is my second absolutely angst free story. Ever, actually. Wild. 
> 
> Anyway, I really love Academy Era Fitz and Simmons, I really wish we were given more backstory about how they met and what school was like for them. This fic was mostly just an excuse to write about my headcanon that Fitz likes to stress clean and that Simmons can't keep her room clean. Hope you enjoy!

It started simply enough. Fitz and Simmons were working on a lab together. They had been partners for a few months and got along better than Simmons had ever imagined, to the point where she was comfortable teasing him about how messy he kept his workspace.

“Honestly, Fitz, you really should keep your lab bench tidier,” she said, carefully placing her pens in order along the top of her desk, each one lined up perfectly. 

“Right, like a few papers out of order could cause the end of the world,” he shot back, shuffling through the pile to find the one he needed. 

“No, but it makes finding things much more difficult, and it’s almost impossible to tell if you’ve lost something. Or if someone takes something.”

Fitz said nothing. He had found his paper, but was now patting his pockets and looking under the desk. 

“Need to borrow a pen?” Simmons asked with fake innocence, holding out the pen she had swiped from his desk when he wasn’t looking. Fitz glared at her as he grabbed it.

“You don’t have to be so smug about it, Simmons.”

“Hmm. Don’t I though?” Fitz scoffed and she laughed, then added, “It doesn’t hurt to be tidy.”

“Oh, and you’re never messy?”

“Not in labs, no! Sure, my room is a tad bit messy sometimes, but that hardly matters.”

“Ah! So little miss perfect isn’t so immaculate after all. My room, I’ll have you know, is always tidy. More or less.”

“What does it matter if your room is messy?” Simmons asked. “It’s not like anyone ever goes there besides you, so who cares?”

“Because, how else do you find anything?”

“How do you find things in lab?”

Fitz paused. “I manage” he said. “But that’s not the point.”

 

“And what is the point, Fitz?”

“The point is, you shouldn’t judge my lab space if you have a messy room. Besides, cleaning bedrooms can be fun.”

“Fun?”

“Well, not loads of fun, but isn’t it satisfying to go into a messy room and tidy it up? And there’s no pressure of messing up, because it’s not like something will blow up if you don’t do it right or fast enough. It’s a good way to unwind.” Fitz looked away, sheepish. 

“That’s really strange, Fitz.”

“You stress bake!”

“Baking at least has a tangible result that you can use, I fail to see how stress cleaning is nearly as productive. Besides, stress baking is fairly common.”

“So is stress cleaning.”

“If you say so,” Simmons said, turning back to her own desk. The lab was almost over, and all she had left to do was the write-up. Fitz made a face and turned to finish his own work. 

They worked in silence for a moment, during which Simmons wondered if she had perhaps gone a bit too far in the teasing this time. She let her mind wander, trying to think of a way to make it up to him. An idea stuck her and she smiled. 

“Fitz,” she said, turning back to him. “You enjoy cleaning, right?”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly.

“Now I’m not saying you have to, but as I said my room is a touch messy. Would you like to clean it?”

Fitz smiled and nodded eagerly. 

***

“Alright!” Fitz said, clapping his hands together decisively. Simmons smiled, pleased that he had taken to her offer so well. She couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at how excited he was, though, especially since it had only grown on the walk to her room. She stuck her key in the lock and pushing the door open. “Let’s see, where should we st- Simmons, why can’t you open your door all the way?”

“Hmm?” Simmons turned around from where she was squeezing her way into her room, the door pushed open with just enough room to enter sideways. “Oh, right. There’s just a bit of laundry on the floor, really, it’s no big deal.” She smiled widely at him and slipped fully inside, kicking the piles of laundry aside to pull the door open a smidge more. “Come on in!”

Carefully, she picked her way across her room to reach the window. “Make sure to mind where you step,” she added as she reached over a precariously stacked pile of books to tug the curtains open. “I think I broke a beaker or two the other day, and I’m not sure I got all the glass. So! You were saying where we should begin?” Simmons turned around, ready to get started, but Fitz was standing frozen by the door. His face was pale, eyes wide in what seemed almost like horror as he looked around her room.

“Fitz?” she asked after a moment, when he didn’t move. “Are you alright?”

“I-“ Fitz shook himself out, carefully peeling his gaze from her room and looking at her. “You said your room was just a little messy?”

“It is!” Simmons replied indignantly. “There’s hardly any space in here to make a real mess, you should see my room back home.”

“This is, this is a _disast-_ ” he cut himself off again, and pointed over her shoulder to the wall across from her bed. “Are those _rats_?”

Simmons looked at the cages and then back at Fitz. “What else would they be?”

“Are you allowed to have them?!”

“Yes.” She raised her chin defiantly, arms crossed in front of her chest as she dared him to contradict her.

Fitz didn’t say anything for a solid minute, just stared at her in stunned silence. When she refused to elaborate, he sighed.

“Simmons,” he said evenly, questioningly.

“They are!” she insisted.

“Simmons,” he said again.

“I mean, technically. They are not forbidden.”

_“Jemma.”_

“They aren’t! I’ve read over the rules dozens of times to make sure, and the rules are very clear.” She smiled again, the smirk she gets when she knows she found a loophole. “No _pets_ allowed, that’s the rule. These are _lab rats_ , not pets. There are no rules against keeping lab rats, anywhere. If they don’t want me keeping them, then they should say so. It’s not my fault that their rules don’t cover non-pet animals.”

Fitz muttered something under his breath, running his hands through his hair. Simmons decided to give him a minute and picked her way across the room to sit at her desk. It was the only clear surface in the room, even her bed was buried beneath pillows and blankets and papers and textbooks. Her desk, in stark contrast to the rest of the room, was immaculate. Pens and pencils delicately placed along the edges, notebooks lined up carefully between bookends, ordered by colour and subject, not a sticky note out of place. She carefully picked out a notebook and started flipping through it, keeping half an eye on her friend so she could start when he was ready.

Fitz, for his part, wasn’t freaking out as much as Simmons had thought. He carefully stepped around towers of textbooks and over mountains of clothes, making his way over to the rat cages. He peered inside and sighed.

“At least you manage to keep the cages clean.”

“What was that?”

“I’m just not going to touch that just yet,” Fitz said louder, turning to face Simmons properly. “I was going to say that laundry is the best place to start.”

Simmons nodded. “That makes sense.”

“So, all this laundry on the floor, that’s all dirty, right?”

“Of course! Where else would I put it?”

“In the-” Fitz cut himself off and stared at Simmons. His mouth moved wordlessly for a moment, then, “In the _hamper,_ Simmons, the _laundry hamper._ That’s literally what it’s for, _please_ tell me you at least have one of those?”

“Obviously.” Simmons rolled her eyes, a little insulted at his tone. “It’s over there in the corner.” 

Fitz’s eyes followed where she was pointing and widened. “Simmons I don’t even see a hamper there.”

“It’s right there!” With a sigh, Simmons got up. She moved through her room gracefully until she reached the corner. “See?” she said, shoving her hand into the pile of clothes and lifting the lid, completely ignoring a diagram that was on top. It fell the 10cm to the pile of laundry around the hamper and landed softly, undamaged.

Fitz stood on his toes and tried to see inside. “Ah! Okay, that’s full so we can at least get a load going and get a start on this. Pick it up, let’s get it down to the laundry room.” He turned around and started working his way back to the door, which had closed again as the pile behind it settled down. 

“Why would we do that? These are already clean.”

“They’re already…? What?”

“Clean, Fitz. We don’t need to wash that, it’s already clean.”

“Then _why_ , Simmons, is it still in the hamper?” Fitz’s voice was tired, worn down, and Simmons frowned. 

“Fitz, what’s the matter? Why are you getting upset?”

“Just. Just answer the question. Please.”

“Where else would I put it?”

“In the dresser, Simmons. Where everyone puts their clothes, in the thing that was designed to store clothes.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s full. Obviously.” 

“Do I want to know what’s in there?” Fitz looked at Simmons, confusion and fear in his eyes. Simmons thought for a moment.

“Nothing is in my room that I am explicitly forbidden from having in here,” she said slowly. 

“Jemma.”

“It’s like with the lab rats. There is no rule against-”

“Stop. Stop talking. I can’t do this, I’m sorry, Simmons. I’ll see you in class, yeah?” He waved goodbye but didn’t look back as he left. Simmons shrugged. Fitz just needed some time alone, and she didn’t really care about getting her room cleaned up. 

She wove her way back to her desk and pulled out a notebook to study, thinking that that was the end of it. 

***

It was not the end of it. 

“Okay,” Fitz said as soon as he saw her the next day. “After class, I’m going to show you my room, and I’m going to teach you how to clean up a room that is _actually_ just a little messy.”

“Oh!” Simmons said, perking up. “Like a scale model experiment! Sounds wonderful.” 

“Yeah, something like that. At the very least it’ll give me an idea of what you know and how I can start in your room.”

The class itself was uneventful, though Simmons could practically feel Fitz fuming at how neat her desk and notes were. After class, he led the way to his dorm.

Fitz’s room looked about as she had expected it to. One wall was covered with diagrams and blueprints, and his desk was scattered with bits of machinery. There was some laundry on his floor, and his bedsheets were neatly tucked in. The window was open and the air was light. Fitz gestured for her to sit down on his chair as she entered, closing the door behind her. 

“Alright,” Fitz said, clapping his hands together just has he had the day before. Once again, Simmons found herself smiling at his excitement, though it still left her feeling somewhat bemused. “The most effective method I’ve found is rather simple. It helps keep you from getting overwhelmed by a large task, or from getting stuck trying to fix a problem. It’s got two steps. First, you pick something up.” 

Fitz bent down and grabbed a shirt off the floor with a dramatic flare. Simmons tried to stifle her giggles, not sure if he was being serious or trying to be funny. 

“Then,” Fitz continued, still making a show of it, “you put it away.” He crossed the small room in two quick steps, opened the laundry hamper and dropped the shirt in. “Ta-da!” he said, turning back to Simmons, completing the performance with jazz hands. Simmons burst out laughing, and Fitz joined in. After a few moments, their laughter quieted down and Fitz went over to sit on his bed, facing her.

“So, that’s all there is to it?” Simmons asked. She still didn’t care much, but Fitz seemed to really enjoy it. “Seems easy enough.”

“Yeah, well, I have lots of practise.” He smiled sheepishly and ducked his head, looking a little embarrassed. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it pretty quick. And there’s lots of other ways to clean and tidy up, this is just the one I go back to when I don’t know where to start.” 

“That makes sense.” 

“Well, then,” Fitz said, jumping to his feet. “I’ll uh, I’ll just pick up the rest of my laundry. You could tidy up my desk, put the pencils back in their holder. The papers should already be in order, so don’t touch those, as well as the electronics.”

Simmons turned around and frowned at the desk as Fitz started to gather his laundry. The desk was cluttered, just like Fitz’s lab desks, and she itched to properly organize everything on it. But this was Fitz’s desk, not hers, and she had to respect his system, so she picked up the writing utensils and placed them in their holder. A quick glance over her shoulder showed that Fitz was still working on the laundry, so she started to sort the holder. Pens on one side, pencils on the other, misc in the middle, then group the pens by colour. A few of the pencils were dull, so she grabbed a sharpener and fixed that. 

“See!” Fitz said, causing her to jump and turn around. He had finished his task and was standing over her shoulder, watching. “I knew you know how to clean a room. You just have to do it!” 

“Well, this isn’t a room, Fitz, it’s a desk. _I_ know how to keep a desk clear.” 

Fitz sputtered wordlessly for several seconds, then sighed in defeat. “Okay, well, yeah, I guess,” he muttered when he found his tongue again. “But I don’t live on my _desk_ , Simmons, I live in my _room_.”

Simmons shrugged. 

“Moving on. There’s not much else to clean in my room, although I could remake the bed. I’m sure you at least know how to make the bed, though, so there’s not much point.” 

“Actually, I don’t know how to make the bed,” Simmons said, frowning. 

“Wha-?” Fitz turned around, his jaw dropping as he stared at Simmons’s completely serious face. “You’re joking, right? How do you not know how to make the bed?”

“I don’t understand the point! Or why it’s considered such a common skill, for that matter.” 

“Because! It’s something you’re supposed to do _every. Day._ After every time you use it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense though! Why should I have to remake the bed? Can’t I just use it again?”

“Well, I mean I guess you _can_ , but that’s not the point. How do you not know how?”

“How do you know how? How does anyone? You buy it already made, like any other piece of furniture. Why are you expected to build it again?”

“Wait, build?” Fitz echoed, but Simmons was on a roll. 

“And for that matter, why do you only have to make the bed? If you have to remake something after every use, why do people never talk about ‘making the chair’? Or the table? It’s already been made, why do you have to do it again?”

Fitz stared at her, slack jawed and eyes wide, looking like he was about to laugh, or cry, or maybe both. Simmons quickly realised that she had gotten a little loud and chuckled weakly.

“Sorry, I guess I just have a lot of feelings about that.” For nearly a minute, neither said anything else. Simmons shifted awkwardly, embarrassed by her outburst and waiting for Fitz to say something. He seemed frozen, though it wasn’t hard to imagine steam coming out of his ears from the intense look in his eyes. 

“No, no that’s fine,” he said softly. He looked a little calmer when he raised his head to meet her gaze, though there was something in his eyes that she couldn’t place. “Simmons…” 

“Yes?”

“You- you know it’s _make_ the bed, not _build_ the bed, right?” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.” 

“Is it ‘ _make_ the bed,’ or ‘ _build_ the bed’?” he asked again. Simmons frowned, eyebrows burrowed. 

“I don’t see the difference,” she said slowly. “‘Make’ and ‘build’ are synonyms.”

“I mean, I guess, _technically,_ they are,” Fitz started. “But-”

“So what’s the difference? Why should I know how to make the bed?”

“Oh boy. Okay, this is going to be harder than I thought. How can I… ah!” He clapped his hands together and pointed towards his own bed. “You- you see this, yeah? See how neat it is, how the blankets are all lined up and tucked in, how the pillows are fluffed?”

“Yes, but how is that-”

“That’s what it looks like when a bed has been _made._ You _make_ the bed look like that.”

“I don’t follow,” Simmons said after a moment. 

“Okay, umm. Hm. Forget that make and build are synonyms for a minute.”

“But they are!”

“I know! I know that, Simmons, but in this case, people don’t use them as such.”

“Well that’s just-”

“I know. But we can’t do anything about that right now, okay? So just forget that for the time being.” Reluctantly, Simmons nodded and gestured for Fitz to continue. “Alright. When people talk about _making_ the bed, they are talking about making it _look nice_ , like mine is. It’s not entirely literal.”

“Then why call it ‘making’ at all? Wouldn’t it make more sense to use a different word?”

“Ah, but see, you just used ‘make’ in a context that ‘build’ wouldn’t work. So, even though ‘make’ and ‘build’ have the same denotation, their connotations are different enough that it wouldn’t work well to switch them around.”

“That just proves my point though! Why use a word that has a synonym which also works in the given context?”

“That’s… actually a really good point and I’m quite angry that I can’t think of a valid reason right now.” Fitz paused, then shook his head before Simmons could gloat properly. “But that’s not the point. I’m trying to teach you how to, using the common phrase that almost every english-speaking person knows, make the bed. Do you now understand the meaning of the phrase?” 

“Sort of?”

“Well, it just means to tidy up the bed, like mine is. To fold the blankets nicely and tuck the sheets in and fluff the pillows. That’s all there is to it.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Simmons conceded after a moment. She was still quietly fuming about the word use, but she could tell that the argument wasn’t going to get them anywhere. 

“Oh, good, so then-”

“But I don’t understand _why_ one should ‘make’ their bed,” she pressed on. “Won’t it just get fussed up again when they go to bed? Why bother?”

“Because it looks nice, Simmons. And it makes the room look cleaner, though your room needs a lot more than that,” he added under his breath. Simmons heard but decided to let it go. “Also, studies have shown that it’s good for your mental health to start each day with a simple task or routine. It can increase your productivity and lower your stress.”

“But I already start my day with a simple task or routine. I get up and get dressed and brush my teeth.”

“Well, it also helps keep the linens clean and last longer.”

“Clean?” Simmons echoed, doubtful. “How can trapping all the dead skin and sweat in the sheets keep them clean? There’s no way for them to air out when it’s all tucked in like that. Not to mention the dust mites!”

“So just wash your sheets more often, then! Which I have a feeling you should be doing anyway. How often do you wash- you know what? Nevermind, I don’t want to know.” 

“You still haven’t given me a compelling reason to make my bed.” 

“Just let me show you how, so you are at least _able_ to do it, if you ever decide to try it.” 

“Knock yourself out,” Simmons said as she settled back into the chair to watch.

“Thank you,” Fitz said, exasperated, then went over to his bed. He took off the sheets and the pillows, then shook out the blankets. Carefully, he draped the sheets back over the empty bed, checking carefully to make sure it was hanging off both sides equally. 

“If the point is to make it look nice, shouldn’t the patterned side of the sheets face up?”

“Ah, excellent question! No, because once you put the blankets back on, you fold the sheet over the tops of the blankets like so. See?”

“I suppose. But why not just line the sheets up with the blankets? Or print the pattern on both sides of the sheet? Why use sheets at all?"

“Because this is how you make the bed, Simmons, it just is. And using sheets help keep your blankets cleaner, and last longer.”

“But you have fuzzy blankets, Fitz. Why bother having a nice texture for your blankets if you don’t get to touch them?” 

“Once the sheets and blankets are lined up nicely,” Fitz said, pointedly turning his back on Simmons and her questions, “you fluff the pillows and place them above the folded sheets. Smooth down any wrinkles and you’re done. That’s how you make the bed.”

“Thank you, Fitz. Though I still don’t see why they call it that. I can’t be the only person who has gotten confused.”

“You’re never actually going to make your bed, are you?” Fitz asked, once again ignoring her comment.

“Honestly? Probably not.” 

“Are you at least going to try to clean your room?” 

“Yes, of course!” Simmons said right away. Fitz stared blankly at her. 

“Before you pack up to go move out, I mean.” 

“I think you know the answer to that question.”

“Right, fair enough. In that case, I’m going to preemptively, politely, decline any invitations to visit your room.”

“I could tell you that I’ve cleaned my room if that would make you feel better?” Simmons offered, genuine but still amused at Fitz’s distress. 

“Honestly, I’d rather just forget this whole nightmare,” he said, sitting on his bed and resting his head in his hands. 

“Understandable. Would you like to head down to the Boiler Room for a while? We could play pool while complaining about how inferior it is to snooker again,” she offered. Fitz hesitated, then sat up.

“Yeah, that sounds fun. Let’s go.” 

Simmons led the way out the room, waiting for Fitz to lock it behind him. Before they headed off, though, she wrapped him in a tight hug.

“Thank you, Fitz,” she said softly. “I may not care about keeping my room clean like you do, but it was lovely to spend time with you. I’m sorry it didn’t go as planned.” She pulled away, beaming at his bright red face. 

“Oh, uh, no- no problem, Simmons. Anytime.” He smiled back at her. “And if you ever decide to clean your room - actually clean it, I mean - let me know. I can try to help.”

“Thank you, that would be very kind.” Simmons turned and started walking down the hall. She paused after a few steps and turned back to Fitz. “You don’t really want me to let you know, do you? That was just you being polite?”

“ _God_ no!” Fitz laughed, horror clear on his face. “Please, never let me see your room again, Jemma. It’s too horrible.”

“Alright,” Simmons laughed back. “But only if you let me help you learn how to keep your desk clean. I can’t understand how you deal with that mess!”

“My mess? At least I know where everything is in my mess.”

“Oh, like your pen the other day?”

“Fine, almost everything. Besides, at least I don’t have anything of questionable legality in my room.”

In retort, Simmons stuck out her tongue and ran ahead to the elevator. Fitz shouted and gave chase, still arguing about how his mess wasn’t as bad as hers.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to message me on tumblr or discord:  
> Writeblr blog: @silverssideblog  
> Discord: cloudcover#7167  
> Also, I've got a few other SHIELD fics in the works, including a very angsty post season 5 one, so keep an eye out for that!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
